


Familiar, But Not Too Familiar

by chamel



Category: The Mandalorian (TV), The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, Crack Crossover, Crossover, Emotionally Repressed Adoptive Single Dads, F/M, Friendship, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Unresolved Romantic Tension, because that's a genre of tv I apparently consume now, the crossover no one asked for, what happens when you just want characters to meet each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:34:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27120490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamel/pseuds/chamel
Summary: Cara arcs a brow at him, which she knows he sees though he’s resolutely not looking at her. “So, what, I’m your stage hand tonight too? I’ll need more beer as payment, you know.”“You haven’t paid for a beer in years,” Din shoots back, giving her a long suffering look like it was her fault he never made her pay.The musician glances between them, brow furrowing almost imperceptibly for a moment before he smiles again, wide and open. “Oh, I’m sure I can manage. Say, have you seen a tall, gruff guy come in? Shoulder-length blond hair, entirely too many muscles, probably frowning, 13-year-old-girl with him?” He glances around the room but the bar isn’t really that big, and there’s certainly no one with such a distinctive description in view.(Ex-bounty hunter and new father Din books Jaskier to play at his bar, and the musician brings his friend along, leading to all kinds of awkward conversations as everyone tries to figure each other out)
Relationships: Din Djarin & Geralt of Rivia, Din Djarin/Cara Dune, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 82





	Familiar, But Not Too Familiar

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know wtf this is, please ignore me.
> 
> (Title taken from the song "(It's a) Departure" by the Long Winters)

“Thank god,” Din huffs when he sees her. “I’m about to lose my mind.”

It’s not really the greeting she was expecting. A simple ‘hey’ perhaps, or a nod of recognition if he was serving a customer, but certainly not the look of relief he gives her, as if she was there to save his life. She has to admit that he looks far more harried than usual, which is saying something because the man is damn near unflappable in most situations. Even so, she knows most people would miss the tightness in his shoulders and the strain in his dark eyes as he scrubs a hand over his face. The bar is a little more crowded than usual, and he seems to be the only one working tonight, but otherwise she can’t quite tell what’s causing his current distress.

“Hello to you, too,” Cara smirks as she slides onto a barstool. “Where’s the fire?”

Instead of answering, Din bends down, disappearing behind the bar, and when he re-emerges he has a familar small child in his hands.

“Oh no,” she says quickly, eyes going wide.

“Please, Cara,” he pleads, giving her an expression he reserves for dire situations. Goddamn his puppy-dog eyes. “The babysitter canceled last minute. I’ll owe you.”  
  
“You already do,” she says as she wrinkles her nose. “You know I don’t do the baby thing.”

“I’ll owe you _more_ , then. C’mon, he loves you. Just for a couple of hours, until Paz gets in.”

“I came here tonight to have a beer and because my friend told me this guy is a decent singer. _Not_ to babysit your disgustingly adorable kid.”  
  
“So you’ll do it?” Din asks, looking altogether too hopeful.

Cara wants to refuse. She has every intention of doing so. It’s not that she doesn’t like the kid. He’s surprisingly easy to care for, and she has to admit he’s grown on her like some kind of tiny fungus. She tries to remind herself that she hates babies, but she can’t quite bring herself to hate _this_ baby.

She huffs a sigh of resignation, rolls her eyes, and holds out her hands over the bar to accept the kid. Of course, she is immediately rewarded by a brilliant smile from the normally reserved bartender, which might be another reason she has agreed to this. _Maybe_.

Trying to fight back her answering grin—because damn it, she’s not supposed to be happy about this—she arranges the kid on her hip and leans one elbow on the bar. He fitted, low cut black t-shirt stretches over her muscled form as she does, and she absolutely does _not_ try to hold back the wicked grin that curls her lips when she catches Din’s eyes dropping to her cleavage for a moment before they snap back to her face.

“Get you a beer?” he chokes out, blushing delightfully.

“I’ll have the wit,” she tells him, turning to look at the kid as Din goes to get the beer. “You’re not giving your dad a hard time tonight, are you?”

Adam grins at her past the toy jammed in his mouth and giggles softly, which could be a yes or a no, honestly. She ruffles his short dark hair and leans in to press a soft kiss to his forehead, netting her another giggle. God, she really shouldn’t feel this fondly about a kid who is decidedly not hers.  
  
“I saw that,” Din says as he slides the pint across the bar toward her, his mouth curved in the barest hint of a knowing smile.

Cara purses her lips at him in mock indignation, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through her body. “You saw nothing. Isn’t that right, Adam?”

Adam’s response—almost certainly another giggle—is interrupted when the door bursts open to admit a rather flustered looking guy with a guitar strapped to his back. From the looks of it, he might have actually run there based on the way he’s huffing with exertion, his short mop of dark brown hair in utter disarray.

“Sorry sorry sorry,” he apologizes quickly as he hurries toward the bar. He runs a hand through his hair, which does nothing to improve the situation. “I know I’m late, the train got delayed of _course_ , just my rotten luck. I’m Jaskier,” he says, sticking out his hand toward Din.

“It’s ok, they just drink more,” Din tells him with a shrug as he shakes the proffered hand. “I’m Din, and this is Cara. Mic should be all set up on stage, let us know if you need anything else.”

Cara arcs a brow at him, which she knows he sees though he’s resolutely not looking at her. “So, what, I’m your stage hand tonight too? I’ll need more beer as payment, you know.”

“You haven’t paid for a beer in years,” Din shoots back, giving her a long suffering look like it was her fault he never made her pay.

The musician glances between them, brow furrowing almost imperceptibly for a moment before he smiles again, wide and open. “Oh, I’m sure I can manage. Say, have you seen a tall, gruff guy come in? Shoulder-length blond hair, entirely too many muscles, probably frowning, 13-year-old-girl with him?” He glances around the room but the bar isn’t really that big, and there’s certainly no one with such a distinctive description in view.

“Uh, no,” Din answers, shaking his head.

“Ah well, guess he’s running late too.”

Without elaborating further on this somewhat bizarre description, Jaskier steps over to where a low stage is tucked into a corner nearby and begins unpacking his gear. Din moves off to take care of a couple who have just stepped up to the bar, leaving Cara with Adam and her beer. She takes a sip and stares at the toddler, who looks back at her quizzically.

“Did he bring any toys with you, or is that it?” she asks him. Adam just shrugs unhelpfully, and Cara huffs out a laugh. “Taking after your dad, I see.”

The door creaks and manages to draw her attention because the person who steps through it is thoroughly eye-catching. Long, white-blond hair, check. Muscles, frowning, 13-year-old in tow, all check. Cara idly thinks that Jaskier neglected to mention the strikingly chiseled jaw and brown eyes so light they’re almost amber. The kid with him bears a passing resemblance, but it might only be the paleness of her blonde hair.

Cara watches him walk through the small space, eyes flicking around quickly like he’s assessing the exits. It doesn’t look like he’s worried, per se, more like a habit he can’t quite break. It’s familiar, because she’s seen Din do it multiple times any time they go somewhere new, and she’s immediately intrigued. She glances back at the musician currently plucking a few notes on the guitar and wonders what the story is, because she doesn’t think she could have imagined a more unlikely pair. There’s a brief moment when Jaskier hasn’t noticed his arrival yet and the man’s eyes linger on him for a somewhat tellingly long time, but then the girl is bounding up to Jaskier excitedly.

“Jaskier!” she calls, smiling brightly.

Jaskier looks up from his guitar and returns an equally radiant smile. “Hey, you guys made it!”  
  
“Sorry we’re late, Geralt was being _so slow_ ,” she replies, rolling her eyes dramatically.

The man—Geralt, apparently—merely grunts in response to this accusation as he follows her up to stand in front of the stage. They look even more improbable when in close proximity; Jaskier’s stylish, hipster-esque clothes seem extra loud against the all-black outfit Geralt wears, and the musician certainly smiles enough to make up for the other man’s stony expression.

“Haven’t started yet,” Jaskier assures her. “Hey, can you grab me some water?”

“Sure thing,” she says.

Cara realizes she is watching the whole interaction rather more closely than is probably polite, but it’s just so fascinating. And, well, Din is at the far end of the bar and Adam isn’t exactly providing scintillating conversation, so she has to entertain herself _somehow_. The girl clambers up onto a stool near Cara and puts her elbows on the bar, waiting patiently for Din to make his way down to them, and Geralt stands near her protectively with his massive arms crossed over his chest.

“You know, most people don’t bring kids to a bar,” Cara says eventually, unable to keep to herself any longer.

Geralt turns to look at her slowly, cocking one eyebrow in disbelief as his eyes drop pointedly to the toddler on her hip. “And?”

“Oh, he’s not mine.”

“Not sure that makes it better,” Geralt replies in a deep, gravelly voice, eyes narrowing slightly.

“He’s _adorable_ ,” the girl puts in, her brilliant green eyes sparkling as she looks at the kid.

“And he knows it,” Din says as he walks up to them. “What can I get you?”

“Two waters, please,” the girl tells him.

“And a beer,” Geralt adds. For a moment Din stares at him, waiting for some elaboration because they obviously have more than one beer on offer. When it becomes clear what’s going on, Geralt just shrugs. “Whatever’s cheapest.”

“He’ll take the brown ale,” Jaskier calls out from the stage without pausing in his tuning. “Put it on my tab.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hums, brow furrowed, though he doesn’t correct him.

“What’s his name?” the girl asks Cara when Din walks away to get the beer.

“Adam,” Cara answers, “and I’m Cara.”

“And you’re not his mom?”  
  
Oh, children, always asking things adults wouldn’t dare. Cara just shakes her head. “Nah, just stuck with babysitting duty tonight while his dad works.” She nods to where Din stands before she smiles back at the girl. “What’s your name?”

“Ciri,” she answers, ignoring Geralt’s death glare. “This is my dad, Geralt.”

“Well it’s a pleasure to meet you both. I take it you’re friends of Jaskier’s?”

Ciri glances back at the musician, who is quite clearly listening to the conversation despite the fact he looks engrossed in his tuning, then up at her father, giving them a look that’s too shrewd for her age. “Yup,” she confirms, popping the _p_ slightly.

For the first time since he walked in the door, Geralt looks vaguely uncomfortable, which is seemingly at odds with the small smile that curls onto Jaskier’s lips. Definitely fascinating, Cara thinks. Din returns with the waters and the beer before she can figure out the most polite way to probe this further.

“Can I play with Adam?” Ciri asks Din, which raises eyebrows all around.

“Ciri,” Geralt says warningly, no doubt meant to discourage her from butting into other people’s business, but she just shoots back a defiant glare at him.

“What? He’s cute, and I’m tired of hanging out with adults all the time.” She pauses, watching him waiver, the deploys her final blow. “Please, Geralt?”

He frowns at her, but in a paradoxically fond way, and the hard line of his shoulders softens a hair. “If his father says it’s ok,” he acquiesces, then glances up at Din.

“We’ll stay right next to the stage,” Ciri promises, looking hopefully at the bartender.

“Fine with me,” Din says with a shrug. The barest hint of a smile twitches up one corner of his mouth. “As long as you can convince Cara.”

Now Ciri turns her charms on her, and Cara realizes that this a girl who is good at getting what she wants. She probably has her gruff, forbidding father wrapped around her little finger. “Could I?” she asks.

“Hey, you’re doing me a favor,” Cara laughs. She slides off the stool and sets Adam down on the ground, and the kid looks up at her curiously. “Ciri’s going to keep you company for a bit, ok? She’ll be more fun than me.”

“Ok,” Adam replies, nodding.

Ciri climbs down from the barstool with the two waters in her hand and bends down a bit in front of the kid. “C’mon, let’s go give Jaskier his water. Do you like music?”

“Yah,” Adam says around the toy that’s still jammed in his mouth as he toddles after her toward the stage.

Cara watches them go and tries not to feel disappointed. Wasn’t she just complaining about babysitting earlier? She should definitely be feeling happier about this turn of events. Ciri and Adam deliver one of the waters to the musician, who sets his guitar aside for a moment to crouch down and say something Cara can’t quite hear over the low murmur of chatter in the bar. Adam giggles loudly while Ciri beams, and it becomes painfully obvious that of the four adults associated with these kids, Jaskier is by far the best with children.

The two kids settle into a corner by the stage with an empty table nearby, so Cara takes her beer and sits down at it to better keep an eye on them; she may have gotten out of entertaining the kid, but he’s still her responsibility until Din can get a break. It’s not really a surprise when Geralt takes the seat next to her, silently watching as Adam shows Ciri his toy.

“She seems like a good kid,” Cara offers after a little while.

“She is.”

Silence stretches between them again, only broken by the strum of guitar chords as Jaskier warms up, until Cara’s curiosity gets the better of her. “She calls you Geralt?”

“It’s a long story,” he replies, and seemingly isn’t interested in telling any part of it because he doesn’t elaborate. Good thing Cara is used to dealing with prying details out of taciturn people. She waits him out, watching him expectantly, and Geralt huffs a little sigh when he realizes what she’s doing. “I adopted her last year. Parents were friends of mine. They died in an accident.”

“Sorry,” Cara says, now somewhat regretting her inquisitive nature. If Geralt is bothered, though, he doesn’t show it.

“It is what it is,” he shrugs

“Funny how they find each other,” she muses as she watches the kids. “Adam’s an orphan, too. At least, we assume so. Din found him during a job, of all things. Tried to find his parents, but never could. If he couldn’t I don’t think anyone could.”

The look that Geralt is giving her is curious despite himself, his head tipped slightly to the side. “Kids like that usually end up in orphanages.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I don’t think Din could bear the thought.” It’s not her place to spill his sob story to an absolute stranger, and honestly she’s probably said more than she should have already.

Geralt hums like he understands, even so. “What about you?”  
  
“What about me?” Cara asks. She’s pretty sure she knows what he’s asking—what part does she play in all of this, which, fuck if she knows, really, and it’s not something she particularly likes to dwell on—but he surprises her.

“You’re a fighter.” It’s not really a question, and the certainty with which he says it has Cara furrowing her brow in consternation.

“Mixed martial arts,” she confirms. “How did you know?”

Geralt turns his head slightly to look at her, his eyes skimming over her form in a way that’s completely different than the way most men look at her. His gaze is evaluating, lingering longer on her shoulders and arms than on her chest, and for a moment she feels like she’s back in the ring being stared down by an opponent.

“Your build, and the small bruises on your forearms and hands,” he says. “You clearly train for more than a hobby, but you haven’t been in the competition ring for a while. Instructor?”

“Good guess,” Cara allows. Really, there are any number of reasons this guy could know who she is or what she does. He certainly doesn’t seem like a stranger to gyms himself, so he very well could have come by the one she works at some day, or seen the signs for her classes. Of course, she’s pretty sure she would have noticed if he’d ever set foot inside her gym before. “And what do you do?”  
  
The corners of Geralt’s mouth twitch with something like amusement. “I hunt monsters.”

Cara raises an eyebrow at this rather unexpected answer, but she doesn’t get the chance to ask Geralt for clarification.

“He’s a bounty hunter,” Jaskier puts in, grinning at them as he strums a few chords. “Be careful, Geralt, you start being that metaphorical, you’re going to make me think I’m finally rubbing off on you.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hums, and Cara knows a suppressed smile when she sees one.

“No shit,” she says. “Din used to be a hunter, before he moved here. What are the odds?”

Geralt just grunts his reply, and then it’s clear their conversation is over because all of his attention is focused on Jaskier as he begins his set. It turns out to be one of the more engrossing shows she’s seen at the bar. It’s true that Jaskier does have quite a good voice, and the original songs he plays are surprisingly catchy, but Cara thinks she could spend hours just watching the interplay between the musician and the hunter. Geralt watches closely even when he’s pretending not to, and Jaskier’s gaze flicks to the other man constantly as if checking for his attention. Cara would love to hear the story of how they met, and even moreso how they became friends. Or ‘ _friends_ ’.

Because there’s definitely something more going on there.

* * *

It’s a good crowd tonight. Not only is the bar decently crowded, but most of them seem interested in listening to him rather than their own conversations. This is the first time he’s played this bar, but he’s already thinking about when he might be able to come back. Assuming they’ll have him, but it seems possible. Certainly can’t hurt that Geralt ended up chatting ( _hah_ ) with the owner’s… friend? Girlfriend? Something, clearly. Jaskier is sure there’s a story there. Maybe even one that would make a decent song.

“Thank you, I’ll be back in 15,” he says over the applause after his last song, quite eager for his break. He shrugs his guitar off and sets it on his chair before stepping off the stage and up to where Geralt sits with Cara at a table nearby.

“You were awesome Jaskier,” Ciri pipes up from where she’s sitting, playing with the owner’s kid. Bless that girl.

“Yeah, great set man,” Cara agrees. She lifts her glass in a small toast to him, and he finds his eye drawn to the band of stripes tattooed around her heavily muscled bicep. Without the kid in her arms she looks decidedly more forbidding, but it’s offset by the welcoming smile she gives him.

Jaskier grins broadly at them, and if he preens just a bit under the praise he’s pretty sure he’s allowed. “Aw, thanks!” he says as he drops into an empty chair at the table, glancing over to Geralt. “Grab me a beer?”

Geralt blinks at him. “Why would you not just go up…?” he starts, then shakes his head. “Nevermind.”

“Hey, you need another one too,” Jaskier points out.

It’s true, he could have just gone to the bar himself, but he would much rather sit here and appreciate the view as Geralt walks away and leans on the bar. He’s wearing those obscenely tight black jeans tonight, damn him, doesn’t he know how distracting that is?

Jaskier’s pretty sure that, somehow, he does not.

When he looks back to his companion at the table he finds Cara watching him closely, her full lips curved into a knowing smirk and her dark eyes sparkling with something like mirth.

“Does he know all your songs are about him?” she asks.

Jaskier feels his eyes go wide. A few others have hinted their suspicions, mostly people who know him well enough to see through his wordsmithing, but he’s never had someone ask so bluntly before.

“Ah— I, uh, wouldn’t say they're _all_ —” he stammers, breaking off when he sees Cara’s smirk get bigger. He probably should have denied that more confidently.

“Gonna take that as a no, then,” she says lightly.

He shoots a glance to where Geralt still stands at the bar, thankfully far enough away to not be able to overhear this conversation. “How did you know?”

“Eh, more of a feeling than anything else. It’s the way you sing them. Swapping a few pronouns around can’t really hide that,” she explains as Jaskier tries to convince himself that he’s not this transparent to _everyone_. “The real question is why _he_ doesn’t know.”

“You’ve met him,” he huffs. “What do you think?”

“Hmm,” Cara mimicks with eerie accuracy. “I know the type. Would rather face down a heavily-armed bail-jumper on PCP rather than talk about his feelings?”

“Are you spying on my life?” he chuckles. “Because I’m pretty sure that has actually happened to me once or twice. Do you ever suspect yours of getting injured just to change the topic of conversation?”

Cara laughs, shaking her head slightly. “To be fair, I think _I’ve_ done that before,” she admits. “But fortunately he’s pretty much retired from that life now that he has a kid.”

“Oh man, I wish. Pretty sure Geralt will never retire, even with Ciri around. Though he has started taking less dangerous jobs, thank god.”

“You never know,” Cara says with a shrug. “Sometimes they surprise you.”

Her eyes flick over to the bartender, who appears to be having an actual conversation with Geralt. Jaskier watches as something softens in her expression, and oh, he knows that look. He knows it well.

“I take it that it was a pleasant surprise?” he asks. “When you had the feelings conversation?”

Cara looks back at him sharply, smirk sliding off her face. “What?”

“Oh,” he says, blinking at her stricken expression in surprise. “When you said—well, the thing about feelings—I thought… wait, he doesn’t know?”

“Know what?” she asks. She looks, absurdly, more confused than he is.  
  
Jaskier can’t help but bark out a laugh at that, and the sound draws questioning glares from both Din and Geralt. “Oh, honey,” he sighs, “and you’re giving me shit about my songs. At least I can admit my feelings to myself.”

Cara just stares at him like she can’t believe that he just said that to her, or maybe that she can’t believe that he figured out something she herself did want to admit. He doesn’t want to brag, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s done that to someone.

“Sorry,” he adds, remembering that he’s talking to a woman who could certainly snap him in two. Well, he’s never had much in the way of self-preservation instincts. “Sometimes they surprise you?”

To his great relief, a slow smile spreads onto her lips and she huffs out a laugh. “Yeah,” she says. “I guess so.”

* * *

“Another brown ale?” Din asks when the musician’s friend—Geralt, apparently—approaches the bar with an empty glass.

Geralt nods, pushing the glass toward him. “And a pint of the gose for Jaskier. I know he said to put the first one on his tab, but I’ll pick up the tab for all of our beers,” he adds as Din draws the two beers from the tap.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Din tells him. “The acts drink free, and I’m pretty sure your daughter is earning your beers looking after my kid tonight. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Geralt hums, waving off Din’s gratitude. “She doesn’t get to spend much time around other kids.”

“Did I hear right that you’re a hunter by trade?”

“I am,” Geralt confirms. “Cara said you were retired?”

Din huffs out a small chuckle at that, because he is—he owns the bar now and that keeps him plenty busy—although he hasn’t been able to resist taking the odd job on the side. “It can be hard to get out of the game.”

“Hah,” Geralt laughs, short and humorless, “that’s for sure.”

“Cara would probably kill me for saying this, but if you ever catch a job where you need some backup, I’d be down,” Din offers casually.

Really, the offer is hardly casual. He misses it _so much_ , and astoundingly someone walked into his bar tonight who has an inkling of how he feels. More than an inkling. He feels a completely unexpected camaradarie with this stranger, and wonders if Geralt feels the same. On a hunch, he slides the bar’s business card toward the other man, and Geralt takes it, glancing at Din’s handwritten personal number on the back before sliding it into his back pocket.

“I usually work alone,” he says, which isn’t a surprise in the slightest, “but I’ll keep it in mind.”

“All I can ask,” Din replies.

He pulls the towel off his shoulder and sets about wiping out wet glasses because there are currently no other orders to take. Surprisingly, Geralt stands there for another moment, glancing back at the table where Cara and Jaskier sit with some kind of hesitation. The pair of them laugh at something, chatting with an easy familiarity, as if they hadn’t just met that night.

“Think we’ll probably invite him back,” Din says, which draws Geralt’s attention back to him. “He brought in a good crowd.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hums, looking slightly amused. “He does that.”

Din wipes out a few more glasses before he convinces himself to say what he wants to next. “I hope this doesn’t sound too weird,” he prefaces, knowing full well that it might sound _more_ weird now, “but I hope I’ll see you guys around again, and not just because Adam appears to have take quite a shine to your kid.” He pauses, because fuck, that definitely sounded weird. “I just mean, it’s nice to have someone around who understands—”

“I get it,” Geralt rumbles, a small smile playing on his lips, and Din feels some of the tension leave his shoulders. “Don’t worry, Ciri wouldn’t let us miss any of his shows.”

“And you?”

Din has no idea what makes him ask the question, because prying into the personal lives of people he barely knows is pretty much the last thing he’s likely to do. He’s not even really sure what his question _is_ , though the ambiguity is probably a good thing. An odd, unreadable expression flits over Geralt’s face and Din thinks maybe he should just try to withdraw the inquiry entirely, but then Geralt looks back over at the musician and something in his face softens.

“I wouldn’t miss any either,” he murmurs, half to himself.

The whole thing makes Din wonder if maybe wrestling with pesky feelings for their best friends might be another thing the two of them have in common, but, well, he’s definitely not going to ask about _that_.

The tension of the moment is broken when Jaskier laughs a little too loudly at something and they both look over to the table. Geralt gives a small shake of his head, as if chasing away whatever troublesome thoughts might be lingering, and picks up the beers.

“I should deliver this before I get an earful,” he says wryly with a glance back to Din, who just nods his understanding.

Din continues drying glassware for a little while until someone comes up and orders a gin and tonic, and then he has to pour a pitcher of beer for another table. When he finally turns back, Cara is leaning on the bar, grinning at him with that 100-watt smile of hers that never fails to make his heartrate pick up. He draws a pint of her favorite beer before heading over and is rewarded by an even bigger smile when he pushes it across the bar toward her.

“How’d you know I was feeling rather parched?” she says, leaning farther forward in that way that she must know does _things_ to him.

He leans on the bar with one hand, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. “Just that good at reading people, I guess.”

“Is that so?” A mischevious smile plays on her lips as she takes a sip of her beer, giving him the unmistakable feeling that he’s walking into a trap. “Is that why you slipped your number to Geralt when he was up here?”  
  
“Ah,” Din says uncomfortably, “you saw that.”

Cara’s grin grows wider. “Mmhmm. Didn’t know you had it in you, Djarin.”

“It’s not— I wasn’t _hitting_ on him,” he protests, knowing he looks far more flustered than he’d like. “It was just— well, you know, since he’s also a hunter, and a father, I mean, just in case—”

“Relax, you dork,” she interrupts, laughing openly at him. “I know you probably couldn’t resist offering to help out on a job.”

Din stares at her with his mouth open for a moment, because it really is unfair that she seems to know _everything_. He huffs and starts wiping down the bar, avoiding the scruitiny of her gaze. “I’m retired, Cara.”

“But I’m right, aren’t I?”  
  
“Of course you are,” he groans. When he chances a glance up at her, she’s smiling at him smugly, and goddamn it, why does _that_ send a wave of warmth rushing through his chest?

“Good,” she says, “because if you _were_ hitting on him after listening to Jaskier’s songs all night I was going to smack you upside the head.”

Din blinks at her, uncomprehending. True, the songs were somewhat unusual in their subject matter, but if he was supposed to get some deeper meaning out of songs about white wolves and saving princesses and fair maidens that break your heart, then he failed. When he tells Cara this, she laughs at him again.

“Oh, you’re as hopeless as he is,” she sighs. She stares at him, an odd look flitting onto her face for a moment before she furrows her brow and shakes her head. “Maybe Jaskier is right.”  
  
“About what?” he asks, feeling entirely lost.

The corner of her mouth quirks up, then, and she tilts her head at him, something in her expression making the warmth in his chest stoke hotter. “I’ll tell you some other time.”  
  


* * *

“Soooo you’re picking up numbers from hot bartenders now?” Jaskier says, grinning at him as he sits down at the table.

Geralt frowns. His first impulse is to deny it entirely, but, well, it doesn’t seem like it’d really be worth it. Clearly Jaskier saw him take the card, and drew his own conclusions; why those conclusions should matter to Geralt, he’d rather not think about. Annoyingly, they do matter, and he has to suppress his second impulse, which is to over-explain why he’s sure the phone number wasn’t any kind of romantic overture.

“It’s a work thing,” he grunts instead, staring down into his beer.

When a reply doesn’t immediately come forth, he looks up again to find Jaskier downing half his pint in one go. The elegant, pale line of his throat works in an absurdly suggestive way as he does, and Geralt finds himself transfixed despite the fact that he really should _not_ be staring.

“Oh, that’s good,” Jaskier says when he pauses for a breath, seemingly oblivious to Geralt’s inner turmoil ( _thank god_ ). “I’d hate to have to rescue you from getting beat down by Cara.”

There is very little about that statement that makes sense to Geralt—it’s not that he doesn’t think Cara wouldn’t be a formidable opponent in a fight, he just can’t figure out _why_ she’d be fighting him in the first place—but of course what he says is, “ _Rescue_ me?”

“Course maybe she wouldn’t go after someone with a kid, and she does seem to like Ciri,” Jaskier continues, as if he hadn’t even heard Geralt. “Say, if you wanted Ciri to get more hand-to-hand combat training, I’m sure Cara’d be happy to train her, though maybe not for a few more years—”

“ _Jaskier_ ,” Geralt interrupts, his head practically spinning at the rapid turns in the conversation. “What are you even talking about?”

The musician just grins at him again. “Oh, nothing really. So, are you going to call him? About a job, I mean.”

There’s really no other answer to that than a shrug. Sure, there are times when it would be helpful to have another person—another _competant_ person, since the times when Jaskier tags along with him hardly count—on a job, but something about it makes him hesitate for some unknown reason. If he’s honest with himself, he kind of envies the fact that Din got out when he adopted his kid. Somehow it doesn’t seem like Geralt could ever give up the life, even with Ciri in the picture.

“We’ll see,” he rumbles. “I work better alone.”

“You’re allowed to make friends, Geralt,” Jaskier teases. “ _Useful_ friends, even.”

Geralt hums at that. He knows Jaskier is joking about all the times Geralt has grumpily complained, usually on a job where the musician has tagged along against his objections, that if he’s going to insist on coming maybe he could do something _useful_ instead of just _sitting_ there—

Geralt frowns, chasing the memories out of his head. He never thought that Jaskier actually paid attention to him, because he says all kinds of things he doesn’t really mean in the middle of a job. He doesn’t _really_ mind when Jaskier comes with him—certainly makes a stakeout more entertaining—and he’d never actually allow Jaskier to put himself in harms way for his sake. But even though Jaskier is smiling now at the joke, he wonders if there is something more underneath.

“You have your uses,” he grumbles, hoping he hit the right balance of admitting enough and not too much.

A radiant smile slips onto Jaskier’s features before he laughs it off. “Oh, I wasn’t talking about _me_ ,” he retorts. “ _I’m_ obviously useful. Who else is going to write songs about your daring exploits?”  
  
“That no one actually understands,” Geralt argues.

“Sometimes not even you,” Jaskier parries, pushing himself to standing. “Time for my second set. Be nice to our new friends, ok? It’d be awesome to have someplace give me steady gigs for once.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hums, as doubtfully as he can manage given that he already knows that Jaskier will be invited back. “Better not play too many songs about me, then.”

Jaskier makes a face and throws a pick at him as Cara slips back into her vacant seat, a fresh beer in hand.

“Might be kinda hard to do,” she murmurs, quiet enough that Jaskier can’t hear her over his tuning. Geralt furrows his brow at her and she shrugs, the expression on her face far too smug for someone who just met them. She winks at him, sitting back in her chair and turning toward the stage. “Just trust me on this one.”

Geralt looks at her skeptically. He knows Jaskier’s songs better than anyone, has sat next to him as the musician played around with chords and rhymes for seemingly endless hours. Still, Jaskier’s retort about him not fully understanding the songs echoes in his head, and he wonders what he’s missing. Well, he supposes now is as good a time as any to try to figure it out. Taking a drink of his beer, he sits back as Jaskier begins to play and _listens_.

**Author's Note:**

> If you actually read this insanity, I'd love to hear what you thought lololol.
> 
> I have a ton of other ideas and WIPs but of course my brain makes me write this. And I kind of want to write a followup where Din & Geralt go work a job together, but there are so many other things I need to be doing instead. 
> 
> I also need to apologize to everyone for being so late on reading and commenting on fics, but I don't get a ton of time these days and I've been spending it writing. I will get to them soon, I promise! Love you all!


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